Hesperos
by latetothpartyhp
Summary: Chloe's in for a rude awakening. Contains some implied Chlollie.


_Hesperos - Greek. the evening appearance of the planet Venus, the evening star._

She was dreaming one of those dreams that, even in her sleep, she was glad no one but she would ever know about: bound to a chair, danger somehow imminent, but then, in a blur, the Green Arrow appeared and she was safe. He didn't untie her, but that was ok; it was the Green Arrow. He wouldn't let any harm come to her.

"You do know it's called 'National Talk Like a Pirate Day', not 'National Get Tied Up and Gagged by Pirates Day', right?" he said through his voice distorter. She rolled her sleeping eyes. Surely her subconscious could come up with a better joke than that.

"Gwmowuheh," she responded, but then, as happened in dreams, her feet were untied and she was standing against a brick wall on a rooftop, her skirt -- had she been wearing a skirt? -- pushed up around her waist.

"I've wanted to do this for so long, Chloe," the Green Arrow whispered as he pushed into her. "You're so ready for me... you must have wanted it too."

She must have, she thought, or why would she be dreaming it? Cheesy and embarrassing as it was, it felt right. She felt right: warm and sheltered and so good, melting into his quick, sharp thrusts and slow withdrawals. They rocked together on the roof that way on the roof, his withdrawals becoming shorter and his thrusts harder, until the roughness of the dream's wall became the rumple of sheets and the leather between her thighs became hot skin. The haze of her dream clung to her, though. She had never felt this good, this protected. Not since she could remember. She moaned deep in her throat, stretching her hips upward. "Oll-eeeeee...."

He chuckled. "Chlo-eeeee," he responded -- and damn if he wasn't actually wearing that stupid distorter.

"Ta'ethathingoff," she mumbled, and he chuckled again.

"Where's that famous way with words?" he asked, but paused to do as she requested. Her hips bounced greedily at the absence of movement and he chuckled again.

"Patience," he told her, his voice effectively freezing all motion. His voice. His voice was not --

She lifted a leg to kick him off, but in the flutter of a lash he was on her, his hands pinning hers to the bed, his hips weighing her down with the force of an iron clamp. She couldn't move at all, except to futilely jerk her legs or head. This was wrong. Even if he was a man, larger than her and built with testosterone-drenched muscle, he was still human. He should still have to put some effort into keeping her down.

But he wasn't. His hands on her wrists were both immovable and relaxed, gentle even, as if he was afraid to break her. Nor was there any tension in his belly or thighs, at least no more than he would have needed to enter her from this position, or to begin thrusting almost imperceptibly inside her.

Which he had begun doing.

"Get off of me," she enunciated, but it was purely a protest vote. He ignored her, taking her wrists and clasping them together in one of his large, insanely strong hands. He brought the other to her belly, tracing lightly down to where they were joined, and circled his thumb around the stretched skin just above it. Her body pushed up in response, reflexively, muscles automatically clenching and lifting, seeking more of the same. He laughed outright.

"That's more like it," he said, "but you were never a quitter, Chloe. Don't start now." He worked his thumb a little faster; she clamped her lips together to keep from gasping. "Not to mention, you owe me one." he bent his head over her breast and licked a nipple, his tongue flicking over it so quickly she doubted she'd be able to see it, even if... even if...

The gasp ripped right out of her, unstoppable, as her back arched and he wrapped his arm around her ass, holding her solidly in place as he slammed into her again, three, four, five more times before stopping and clutching her, sightlessly, to him.

They dropped as one to the sheets, his arm still under her. She waited for him to slide it out, for him to get up and leave, but he continued to lie there, half on her and half off, his breath brushing against her shoulder, his hair tickling her ear.

"Someone might come in," she told him. "And no one who has a key to that door is anyone you want to see you right now."

She felt his mouth widen against her clavicle.

"Don't worry," he said. "They won't." 


End file.
